


A God and His Wolf

by ShadowThorne



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 02:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2796461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowThorne/pseuds/ShadowThorne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old god awakens to wander a forest once claimed for himself and decides he needs to deliver a lesson in mortality to the new intruders. It's a lesson even gods need reminded of every now and again. GrimmHichi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A God and His Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Eh, this story kind of deviated from what I'd originally intended it to be, but I still kind of like it. Enjoy~

The air held a warm, inviting calm, maybe a little on the humid side but it was a lively moisture. It permeated the rich, black soil and made the earth damp and warm below bare feet. It fed the vibrant greens and yellows, purples and blues of the plants. Insects buzzed and hummed and chirped in pleasant cadences, undisturbed by the lone figure wandering gently through their midst.  
  
He breathed deep the heady fragrance of fresh blooms and of trees older than even himself, chin tilted up and eyes closed in bliss. As he walked, feet stained from the fertile soil he strode upon, the plants slithered from his path, like snakes in the guise of vines. He had no need to see where he walked, his path was eternal, his destination nameless. He would get there when he wished it, wherever there was.  
  
Light, dancing fingertips trailed along the tops of leaves and across the rough bark of ancient trees bigger around than a man. The undergrowth shuddered below his life-giving touch. It flourished and budded, graced as if by a rain shower like none other before. The insects and small creatures that lived and hid among the foliage whispered of praise, the language one only the very oldest of creatures could still understand.  
  
A pleased smirk curled pale lips.  
  
Light from the sun above splashed through the canopy here and there, dotting the forest with harsh but lovely streaks of light. They warmed the soil especially so and the figure stopped as he entered one such pool of light, sighing as he dug his toes into the dirt. This was his destination, he decided, and he stepped further into the splash of warmth and called to him the thick, gnarled old branch of a twisted, knotted tree.   
  
The branch stretched and grew and intertwined until it slung low over the ground, cutting through the sun’s ray. The creature smiled at it and sat, letting the sturdy branch take his weight as he dug his feet further into the rich ground, humming a distorted, delighted sound. After a moment, he cast his gaze around him and then held out one hand. His lips parted, a strangely blue tongue peeking out to wet them, before a beautiful whistle floated through the air. It caressed the trees and the plants, and it called to him a bird of the prettiest blues. His favorite kind.  
  
Smiling at the animal, he let it land in his upturned palm, than drew it closer and used his other hand to stroke the soft feathers of it’s chest and belly. The bird sang a pretty little tune for him, entranced by his charm and his power. Relaxed, its only protest was a shrill chirp as pale fingers closed tightly and swiftly around it’s body, pinning its wings and keeping it from flying away.  
  
The bird struggled for a moment, and the creature watched with a strange sort of satisfaction, before he decided to end the little animal’s stress. He petted its little head, once, twice, than closed his other hand about its beak and twisted. The sharp snap of frail bone met his ears and the bird fell limp in his grasp.  
  
Sitting there in his warm splash of peaceful sun and listening to the cadence of life all around, Shirosaki used his teeth to tear open the bird in his hand. Blood smeared the god’s chin and dripped down his pale throat as he snaked his long, blue tongue through the bird’s ribcage and found its still hot heart.  
  
He’d slept long, and he’d awakened to a world that was both new and old.  
  
After devouring his tasty but small treat with a watery purr, he ripped the wings from the dead bird and tilted back his head as he swallowed them whole, bones, feathers and all. After the wings, he moved to the body. Like a snake, he again tipped back his head and straightened out the column of his throat and, holding the dead bird by the tail, he lowered it down his gullet head first. The beak was sharp on his tongue but the smooth, soft feathers soothed the scratch as he swallowed his meal.  
  
Blood soaked his hands, dripping down his arms in thin rivulets. It smeared his features and made ghastly his pale complexion. Sharp teeth stained red glinted in the sun as the creature smiled to himself.  
  
With a pleased sigh, the nymph settled in his crafted seat again, twisting so that he could lean back against one supporting branch and lounge comfortably in his patch of warm sun. His pace and his actions leisurely, he worked his tongue around his fingers and began clearing away the bright blood that soaked his hands as would a pleased, well fed cat.  
  
All around him, the forest flourished with teeming life, fed by his power as he was fed by its.  
  
After a time, when his grooming was done, the creature stood from his makeshift seat and with an easy gesture of his hands, the branch returned itself to where it had originally lifted to reach for the sky. He watched it for a moment, pleased about his sated hunger, then chose a direction at random and opened up a new path through the undergrowth for himself.  
  
He was as if one with the ecosystem around him, a part of the plants and animals, a part of the forest. Despite the blood on his hands, the birds didn’t cry out and take to the air as he trailed his fingers over the brush they perched in. The insects didn’t scurry for cover, merely hurrying from underfoot. An antlered deer lifted its head as he passed, but didn’t stop its munching nor even stiffen in preparation to flee. It wasn’t even spared a second glance. He couldn’t devour an entire deer and so posed no threat to it, despite that killing it would have been easy.  
  
He took the shape of a man, but he was far from it. He was a creature made of dark earth and pale bone. He was a demon and a god both, a creature that could take the shape of whatever he so wished. He had one duty and he excelled at it; the forest was his and he took care of it.  
  
Like the pale specter of a ghost, he passed unimpeded through his home, connecting with nearly every living thing around him. A simple touch from long, pale fingers and a whim was all it took for him to manipulate nearly anything that could claim life. He could make it grow, he could make it strong and powerful and mighty. Or he could make it whither and age and die before its time.  
  
As he walked, a spark of curiosity entered his mind and he paused, opening his path a little wider as he waited. The leaves of low branches turned away, vines pulled back and underbrush receded, flattening from his view. Hardly a moment later, as the forest ceased shifting unnaturally, a small pup stumbled up to him. It’s tail waggled and it’s coat was vibrant for its species, but it looked up at him without fear.  
  
Shirosaki smiled at its boldness and lowered himself to kneel before it. He could have easily called it to himself and it would have been powerless to resist, but he had no need and as he held out his hand, the pup inched closer to sniff, then lick at his fingers.  
  
The nymph laughed, his voice an echoing, distorted sound in the quiet of the forest. “Good instincts, lil one.” He praised as he settled his hand upon the soft fur of its ear.  
  
Then he frowned and flinched ever so slightly as vast, mind-numbing panic spread throughout his thoughts, fed to him by the animals he connected with. Snorting, he slowly stood and turned to face the animal that sped toward him, still hidden in the underbrush. Slipping near silently through a parting in the foliage, a large, scarred up old she wolf bared fangs at him, her head lowered and her ears back. There was threat in her stance, but fear in her mind.  
  
Shiro arched a brow at her, glanced down at the pup at his heel, than looked back to the mother. Deciding he liked the pup, he bared his teeth right back and growled a low, lilting sound. The mother wolf’s ears perked for a split second, than dropped right back down as she warily backed a step away, her fear intensifying.  
  
The nymph growled louder, letting the sound rumble in his chest. It made even the pup at his side flinch. It sent birds that had fallen silent with the predator’s approach shrieking away as if found. It sent deer scurrying from their cover, like Shiro’s anger was wildfire.  
  
The wolf whimpered as it back away another step, then turned tail and fled back the way it had come.  
  
Looking down at the abandoned pup, the creature let his pale lips cover still blood darkened teeth and tilted his head. Then he continued on his way, as if uninterrupted. The trees parted to make way for him. The pup tentatively followed at his heel. Shiro smiled.  
  
After he’d roamed for a while more, finding his way to a clear, cool natural spring, he paused and waited for the pup to catch up. The lag to its steps and the hang of its head showed it to be worn out from all the walking and the god lilted a laugh, then stooped upon the narrow shore, near where the water from the pond met the dry earth of the forest.  
  
The little, copperish colored wolf walked right up to him, huffing a worn out sound, and practically collapsed at his feet. Laughing again, the god ran his hands over the pup’s thick, soft fur, before picking the animal up and holding it aloft for better inspection.  
  
Its tail waggled a few times, deep, brown eyes finding and holding the god’s own golden ones. “What’s your name, lil one?” Shiro asked aloud as he straightened, still holding the pup. Of course it didn’t answer and something of a smile pulled at the creature’s pale lips, “Too young, ain’t ya? Yet ta make a name.” He said, nodding and backing up a step so that his bare feet met cool, still water.  
  
He half danced through the shallow water until it was deep enough to nearly reach his knees, his steps graceful and fluid and maybe a little exaggerated, yet still he made hardly a splash. Cradled in his arms, the pup let its tongue loll out in a happy, canine smile, its tail waggling out behind it.  
  
When he deemed they were in deep enough water, Shirosaki lowered to sit crosslegged in the shallows, settling the wolf pup in his lap. It lapped up some of the water, spinning a playful little circle, before looking back up at the creature holding it. The god smirked and with one hand, patted the wolf’s head. With the other hand, he called to himself a few of the pond’s inhabitants. Wiggling his fingers below the water, he watched as a few curious fish drew near.  
  
The pup watched too, its ears pointed forward and alert as it stood up proud and excited in the god’s lap.  
  
Then Shiro let his hand slowly rotate to sit flat in the water, palm up. His motions were gentle and easy, in time with the rhythm of the water he sat in. It took less than a minute for a decent sized fish to swim into his upturned hand and he closed his fingers around it in a snap of quick motion.  
  
Lifting the fish from the water, he latched his black, claw-like nails into its sides, holding it from slipping from his grasp. Holding it down to the pup, he nodded, and wasn’t surprised when the wolf happily accepted the offering. It closed sharp teeth upon the head of the fish and Shiro released it when he was sure his new companion had a good hold. He watched with a fond, almost fascinated smile as the pup hopped from his lap, slipping ungracefully into the water, and half swam, half bound back to the shore. Once it had dragged its treat onto dry land, the puppy began tearing pieces from the wriggling fish, eating its fill. The god grinned, and went back to his bathing.  
  
A year went by, though neither really noticed it as such. Gods were timeless beings and so was the wolf when the forest nymph decided to make it his own. Fed from the power of such a creature, the once small pup grew into a large, mighty wolf. His coat shone in the sun, shimmering with vibrant coppers and greys; still light colored for its breed. Below its thick fur, muscle rippled with each confident movement. The wolf followed Shirosaki everywhere, roaming the forest and playing its part in protecting the god’s domain.  
  
One warm day, while wandering the forest at their leisure, they happened upon hunters. There was nothing new in it, not to the nymph, and as long as the hunters were respectable in their activities, he was placid enough to leave them be. It was the natural order of things, after all. Humans were predators. Perhaps not in the same sense as other animals, but predators nonetheless, and Shiro generally merely curled his lip and continued on his way. The forest would survive. The animals not caught and killed would thrive, reproduce and continue on. All was well.  
  
But on occasion, he came across things he couldn’t forgive and it was an atrocity that he and his wolf companion happened upon that day. Deep into the tree line, the bleats of an injured, frightened doe rang.  
  
The wolf’s ears perked towards the sound at nearly the same time that Shiro stopped, midstep, and turned his gaze as if in search. In truth, he listened to the sound, hearing the pleas for what they were. Like the forest, the animals within were under his protection and they spoke to him, not with words nor conscious thought, but with an instinctive connection, a language only he could understand. This deer spoke to him of fear, and it asked him for his help.  
  
Frowning, the nymph glanced down at his wolf, and without a word, the two sprinted off into the forest. The trees parted for them, the vines snaking from their path. Though he took the shape of a human, Shirosaki’s footsteps were featherlight and soundless, the balls of his feet just barely touching soft earth before lifting again. Ahead of him, the massive wolf led the way with flattened ears and bared teeth.  
  
They crossed the needed distance with an unnatural swiftness, and when they made it to the distressed deer, the wolf sailed clear over it to land between it and the hunter, claws skidding in the dirt and hackles raised.  
  
Behind the wolf, Shirosaki stepped up to the deer, paying no mind to the human in their midst. He knelt at its side and her cries ceased. Laying a hand against her heaving side, near the wound that no doubt shattered the bone if ribs, he frowned a regretful, almost sad expression. The life she had carried was gone. The fawn she’d been pregnant with had taken the bullet intended for its mother. With gentle motions so opposite of what the god was capable of, he slid his hand over the bleeding wound and pressed, using his power to seal the wound and reverse what damage he could.   
  
He mended flesh, strengthened bone, knit muscle and sinew back together, but he couldn’t breathe renewed life into something lifeless. The fawn remained dead and the doe would be forced to carry it. She would either give birth to a stillborn baby, or contract an infection from the lead bullet that baby carried and die of it later.  
  
At the same time as the displeased god tended to the injured deer, the human yelped at the unexpected appearance of a very angry wolf, backpedalling and nearly falling on his behind in the process. He held his rifle out before him, like he expected the large wolf to continue its attack, like he could hold it off if it did. Only when the beast failed to lunge for his throat did he regain some of his senses and aim the weapon properly.  
  
It was a grave mistake.  
  
The god’s head shot up, his eyes lit with swirling rage, “Do _not_ -“ He snarled at the human, “threaten him.” He stood, his hand smeared in the doe’s blood. The deer stumbled as it righted itself, letting out a forlorn wail at the loss of its unborn fawn. The sound only put a more menacing sneer on the god’s features. “If you dare harm him, ya wont survive ta see his last breath.”  
  
Stunned and confused, the human stared at the naked man that had appeared as if a ghost before him. The wolf snapped its jaws in aggression, lips peeled back and shoulders hunched. The god strode forward, until a few scant paces separated him from the human in his forest. Rage lit his every move with deadly grace. Raising his blood soaked fingers, he sniffed them as he stared down the human, and curled his lip at the smell of death before dropping his hand back to his side.  
  
“Leave my forest.” He growled in a low, distorted voice that seemed to echo from the trees around them. Blood dripped from his fingertips to patter upon the leaf litter below, sizzling and burning through dried leaves like acid. But it was the god’s rage, not the blood, that killed what it touched. “Do not come back. If ever I find ya breakin’ my rules again,” He paused, flashing teeth that were fanged more like the wolf’s than like a man’s. “You only walk free now to carry my message, human. Treat my animals with respect, or face my wrath.” When the man still stood frozen, he snarled a, “Go!” and the command was punctuated with the lunge of a massive wolf.  
  
The hunter turned tail and fled, the stink of fear wafting in his wake, and Shiro watched him disappear as the wolf circled round and returned to his side, leaving the human thoroughly terrified, but unharmed.  
  
Tangling his clean fingers in the wolf’s think, golden fur, the god glanced down at the animal, “I think ya’ve finally made your name.” He said, something of a smirk tilting his lips despite his foul mood, “He Who Protects.” He announced, and turned from the scene of the murder of an unborn fawn. The wolf, no longer nameless, followed behind.  
  
The hunter did exactly what Shiro had wanted from him. He told his story over and over, to anyone who would listen. He told them of how the massive wolf and the pale man had come from no where, how the creature had healed the deer he had shot with naught but a touch. He spoke of power and gifts and unbridled, animal rage. Rumors spread about the creature in the forest. Soon enough, the entire village knew of the god and his wolf.  
  
It was a mystery to the creature how the humans had forgotten about his presence in the first place, but then, humans were soft and their memory was limited by their short life. Generations of them passed in the single breath of his own lifespan.  
  
In the coming weeks, he and his canine partner were kept busy. Nearly every hunter to step foot into his forest was paid a personal visit. Sometimes he remained unseen, a silent witness. Sometimes he didn’t.  
  
“You can’t keep us from hunting!” They cried when he healed the devastating wounds of their would-be victims and let the animal flee. “We have families to feed!”   
  
“I can.” The god informed them, his voice an almost amused lilt and his golden eyes bright in the shadows, “And as long as you continue going against the one rule I’ve set, I will.”  
  
What they didn’t seem to be capable of understanding was that he only came to those with poor or cruel aim. To kill his animals swiftly was acceptable. To limit their suffering was respectable. But to draw it out was unforgivable and he would stand for it no longer. A message needed delivering, a reminder that they were as much animal as the creatures they hunted.  
  
Not all the people to enter his forest were hunters, though. After his existence was all but confirmed, some came purely to seek him out. Usually he ignored them, staying out of sight. He turned it into a game, striding through his forest right in front of their very eyes and yet still hidden. He enjoyed the ripple of fear his unseen presence brought to the humans. Or sometimes he would send his wolf in his stead and let them think the massive animal was an ambassador of sorts. To some degree, they weren’t wrong. Shirosaki heard everything they said to the wolf, but he paid attention to very little of it. And of course, whatever the wolf attempted to communicate back went unheard. Humans had long ago lost the knowledge of the ancient language the forest and its animals used.  
  
One day, while he strolled leisurely through his domain, he caught wind of a presence in his territory. The small heard of deer in the area froze up in their terror, as deer often did, and Shiro’s gold on black eyes narrowed as he listened to the whispers of panic and caution in his mind.  
  
But then it passed, not single being harmed, no echoing gunshot to shatter the peace of his quiet evening. The god tilted his head slightly, his fingertips dancing absentmindedly upon the upturned surface of a broad, pointed leaf. Bright, livid green swirled through it, followed by the reds and golds of autumn, before the entire tree began shedding its leaves.   
  
As the god turned away, continuing upon his unannounced path, he crunched over dried, dead leaves. The tree was left bare and skeletal in his wake. Those around it flourished as the decaying roots fed them.  
  
“A child, perhaps,” He said in thought, “wandered away from home ta explore.”  
  
At his side, the wolf groaned a low sound that was neither a growl nor a sound of excitement.  
  
Shiro frowned down at it, “Bite yer tongue, all are children compared ta me. Even you.”  
  
Wolf merely sighed, redirecting those rich, intelligent brown eyes outward.   
  
The god rolled his eyes, letting out a quiet “tch.” as he continued walking. The wolf was right though, the intruder was young, but not a child. Nor was he hunting, which left few other options for why he’d be trudging so deep into the god’s forest.  
  
Weighing his options, Shiro floated through the path slowly opening up for him. The branches that overhung it lifted for him, low growing brush flattening out of his way. He followed, not really putting thought into where he wished to go, but knowing he’d end up exactly where he wanted to be.  
  
As he walked, he decided he would indulge his curiosity, and let this human find him. Somewhere ahead of him, still just barely hidden by the foliage that lay between him and his destination, the soft sounds of water and the life that surrounded it could be heard. A light breeze drifted over the open water -a small, freshwater lake- and the god smiled as he decided this was an apt place for a meeting.  
  
Upon sliding into the small clearing, he glanced up at the over hanging branches of ancient, deep rooted trees and decided their shade made the water he’d yet to feel a bit cold today. With a thought, the sturdy branches slowly rolled back, allowing the evening rays of warm sunlight to filter down and warm the pond.  
  
Shiro sighed a blissfully pleased sound and closed his eyes as he took his first step into the water. He had no need to open his eyes and see what lay around him as he ventured a bit deeper. He found the perfect place, where warm sun glittered upon the calm surface but the water wasn’t so deep that it would hinder him, and lowered himself sit comfortably. A few curious, brave fish swam up to him and despite that they were carnivorous and would have surely sought to devour most creatures that dared enter their home, they merely inspected the god in their midst, before turning about. Their silvery scales and bright red bellies flashed and shone in the filtered sunlight as they hid in deeper water with all haste.  
  
The god lilted an amused laugh, and settled in to await his guest. With his subtle manipulation of the forest around the wandering human, his wait wasn’t a long one.  
  
The man was surprisingly light on his feet for a human, Shirosaki would give him that, but it was nearly impossible to truly sneak up on a god. The creature smiled to himself, and continued his bathing as if he didn’t know his human had finally found him, as if he didn’t know the man was even watching him and debating whether to stay hidden or reveal himself.   
  
Curious about the man’s intent, Shiro decided he’d wait to see what the human chose to do.  
  
Laying upon the soft, white sand of the pond’s shoreline, the wolf lifted its head from its crossed paws, ears perking towards the human that had approached. Shiro’s gold on black eyes lifted toward it and his canine companion glanced over at him as if its name had been called. A very subtle shake of his head was all it took to put the wolf at ease. It grumbled a low, doggy sound and rested its head back upon its paws, relaxing in the cool shade of a massive tree who’s roots fed from the spring.  
  
For nearly a half hour, the god let the game continue, let the man think himself undiscovered where he hid in the underbrush not twenty paces away, watching in awe of the petty tricks Shiro preformed. Ever the mischievous sprit, the pale god reveled in the attention, putting on a show just because he could. He stood and waded out waist deep in the cool water, trailing his fingers through the still surface. He couldn’t manipulate the water like he could plants and animals, because it didn’t carry life in the same way they did, but that didn’t limit him.  
  
He called forth fish, convincing them to swim up from the depths of the pond and swim in pretty, flashing patterns around him, grinning as they did what he silently asked. He dipped one hand below the surface and one such fish swam right into his hand. His fingers closed around it almost carefully, as he lifted it from the water. With the smallest of sounds, he gained the wolf’s attention and held the fish up for it to see. The wolf gave a low, short canine groan in reply, and seemed uninterested, so Shiro nodded his agreement and released the fish. Repeating his actions, he called forth a larger one with smaller teeth.  
  
When he held up the second fish, the wolf stood and waggled his tail.  
  
The god laughed a haunting, chiming sound and tossed the still living fish. With the snap of sharp, vicious jaws, the wolf caught its meal. Pinning the flopping creature below its paws, it began pulling away flesh and devouring bloody meat while the fish struggled.  
  
Yet still, the aquatic wildlife danced around the god, unmindful that he’d taken one of their own and sentenced it to a gruesome death.  
  
When he grew bored, he leisurely waded through the water and back to shore. As if completely unaware of his audience of one, he left the pool, wolf trailing at his heel, and disappeared into the forest around him.  
  
It was no surprise to him when the wolf trailing at his heel paused. He waved his fingers out to the side and called the animal to his waiting hand, where he curled long fingers into its thick fur. He smiled to himself, something of a wicked expression, as the roots and leaves around him whispered to him that his guest was following.  
  
He let the man trail after him for a few minutes. The human kept just out of sight, just behind the tree he’d already passed, or crouched low to hide among the foliage. After those few minutes, Shirosaki took a turn from his apparent path and with a quick flick of his wrist and the trailing of black nails across hard bark, the forest grew closed around him, sealing off his route and keeping him hidden.  
  
He laughed as he heard the man walk right by. Later that evening, he tilted his head and listened to the soundless words of his forest as the trees and animals told him of his human’s exit from his forest.  
  
The next day, he was at it again and this time he brought with him something more impressive than fish. He wasn’t at his favored pool more than twenty minutes, bathing peacefully, when the forest around him whispered of another presence. He smirked to himself, knowing it to be his admirer.  
  
Standing along the water’s edge, he had deer grazing peacefully, unmindfully. Tricks weren’t needed to prove that he was something not normal, not human, something other. The normally skittish animals hardly even seemed to notice him, even as the pale creature walked between them, brushing his hands along the fur of their sides and down their slender necks. When he passed by a buck, the leader of the small heard, he even wrapped tight his fingers around one antler and tugged gently. The animal merely shook its head, pulling away as if being bothered by an annoying, playful adolescent rather than a powerful and deadly creature.  
  
And so it went for days. Each day, Shirosaki would put on another pretty little show, playing with the animals and the plants around him, and every day, he would feel his admirer’s curiosity and fascination grow. Perhaps there was fear in the man, he thought, and that was why he’d stayed hidden still. But if it were true, the human did well in hiding it. Perhaps he’d merely been lolled into false comfort, thinking himself a secret still, and so in no danger.  
  
With a wicked grin, the god decided one day that it was time to change that.  
  
Seemingly out of nowhere, the creature stood and the animals he’d gathered scattered as if horrified. Water dripped from his wet hair, between his shoulder blades, over his hips. He didn’t turn, didn’t face the man, but there was a grin obvious in his voice, “Human, I tire of this.” And with his words, the foliage surrounding the man shriveled and grew brittle.   
  
The large wolf which normally laid so placidly at the bank of the pond stood, hackles raised and teeth bared. Its tongue curled around its fangs as it stalked a step closer. Once healthy, lush leaves rotted to black, then crumbled to dust. Twigs and branches snapped and fell to the ground with a dull, hollow clatter, as if they’d been dead for years before growing weak and finally shedding. All around the man, the underbrush died and decayed before his very eyes, leaving him suddenly and unexpectedly out in the open, facing a creature that was far from human.  
  
Only then did Shiro turn to face his admirer. The man was tall of build, and broadened with a strong physique. His features were angular but not harsh, his eyes rounded with surprise, but shining with a mix of thrill and curiosity, bluer than the skies above the god’s little pool. Shiro took his time, taking in the sight of the man -from his head of chaotic and odd blue hair, to the toes of his worn boots- and stood motionless, knee deep in warm water.  
  
“You know of me.” The god’s lilting voice was more a statement than a question.   
  
The man nodded a subtle motion and took a small step back, his eyes never leaving the pale form of the forest nymph. He’d heard the stories of this creature, saw the evidence for himself, yet nothing could have prepared him for the truth of the thing’s undivided attention. Men were not meant to play with gods and this creature, standing right before him, was the reason why.  
  
Shiro smiled and it was a wicked expression. He could smell the man’s unease. “Good.” He practically purred. The water hardly even rippled as he strode to the bank nearest the human, “Than ya know runnin’ would be pointless…” Pausing, gold eyes narrowed slightly but the wicked tilting of pale lips never faltered. Then, “Grimmjow.”  
  
Blue eyes grew wider, as the young man stared, “You know my name…” His voice held disbelief in its rough, deep tone. Something slithered cross the top of his boot, then began coiling around his ankle with enough pressure to feel it through the material of his pants and the thick leather of his boot. Glancing down and thinking he’d found a snake, he instead saw a thick, green vine. Attempting to lift his foot free only resulted in a tightening of the vine as his boot was dragged back to the ground and he was forcefully tugged a step forward. His attention shot back to the god in his company. Only then did he realize the pale creature stood hardly an arm’s length from him, feet upon dry earth. The wolf had disappeared.  
  
“I do.” Shiro purred, “D’ya think, in all this time that you watched me, I didn’t watch back? I knew the very moment you stepped foot in my forest. I knew the moment you failed to seek out one of my animals that ya sought me instead. Now you’ve found me, human, and you have my attention. What d’ you want?”  
  
“I-“ The man shook his head, repressing the instinctive urge to try pulling free of the vines creeping up his leg, twisting tight around his calf and holding him in place. “I was indulging my curiosity. I want nothing.”  
  
The god laughed. “Everyone wants somethin’.”  
  
“Even you?” The moment the question left his lips, Grimmjow stiffened, realizing he’d just questioned a god. A low growl from behind him made him swallow, but he didn’t turn to look over his shoulder at the massive wolf that had somehow circled around him. He dared keep his gaze leveled at the shorter form of the nymph he spoke with.  
  
Shiro’s laughter stopped, his smirk dropping. His head tilted, long, wet hair swaying slightly. The study of those inverted, golden eyes was a burning, harsh thing. Finally, the god’s smirk returned, and he answered, “Of course.”  
  
And just like that, the threatening growl fell quiet. The wolf circled back round to return to its master’s side, brushing near enough to the man that he could have reached out and touched its thick fur. The god turned away, done with their conversation. The vines fell away and retreated, slithering back into the forest. The leaves and foliage around the man began to bud with fresh, lively growth, and Grimmjow was left standing, free and alive, and stunned.  
  
Grimmjow knew he was meant to hear it when the god glanced down at his canine companion as if exasperated by something the animal said, and simply stated, “I like him.”  
  
Then the god and his wolf were gone, lost in a forest Grimmjow already knew he couldn’t search through even had he wanted to find the creature. Taking a shaky step back, he watched the far edge of the pool for a moment, staring after the nymph’s sudden departure. Then, gaze flickering over the clear surface of the water, he turned and he too left.  
  
But they were destined to meet again. If anything, Grimmjow’s curiosity had only been piqued by his encounter. All the stories and rumors he’d heard amongst the people that lived near the forest told of a monster who sought to thwart human life and put an end to the hunting of the animals he protected. But from the small meeting with the god, and the few words that had been exchanged, Grimmjow saw something other. Mischief and the capacity for anger and fire against those he would see as foes, yes, plenty of that, but also intrigue and the harshness of fair balance.There were two sides to the creature; that of death and chaos, and that of life and the struggle to maintain it.  
  
The very next day, Grimmjow returned to the forest, again seeking out the creature that lived within. He’d walked for not more than ten minutes, headed in the direction he believed the spring to be, when he froze. Ahead of him and nearly hidden by the thick underbrush, a large, copper colored wolf stood looking back at him. He knew it to be the very same that normally accompanied the god.  
  
In the shadowing of the trees, it’s coat looked mottled. So vivid for its species, Grimmjow noted, yet still it managed to blend with the forest. He knew, as they locked eyes, that he’d only caught sight of the animal because he was supposed to.  
  
Then the wolf lifted its head a fraction higher, before turning and heading off in a wholly different direction than what Grimmjow had been traveling. The man frowned, glancing after it before taking a few steps as if to continue, but he paused again, once more staring after the wolf and where it had disappeared in the foliage.   
  
Brow furrowing all the further, he hesitantly followed after the animal.   
  
It wasn’t an easy thing to do. The wolf didn’t simply lead him. It stayed several paces ahead of him, always obscured by the dense foliage. He caught glimpses of rippling, copper fur, or flashes of intelligent, brown eyes, before he lost sight of the animal again.  
  
When the wolf finally led him to the pool and the god that stood on its bank, he felt as if they’d gone in circles far longer than was necessary. In fact, if the direction the breeze drifted from was an indicator, he’d ultimately been led in the same direction he’d originally been going. He frowned his confusion at the wolf and wondered if it had been meant to mislead him, rather than to bring him to its master.  
  
The wolf simply looked back at him placidly, seated by the pale creature. Long fingers tangled in the wolf’s fur as the god lifted his features toward the canopy, those strange eyes closed. He scented the breeze and listened to what his forest and its inhabitants had to tell him. The wolf at his side leaned a shoulder against his side fondly. Then, as if trying to get its master’s attention, tipped back its head to look up at the creature and nosed against the god’s ribcage, under the arm of the hand tangled in its fur.  
  
Only then did the god really react to its presence. He half squirmed, a wide, almost playful grin erupting across his features. “Ya gotta cold nose, mutt.” He laughed, running his hand around the wolf’s shoulder, up the front of its neck to scratch under the animal’s jaw.  
  
The wolf wagged its tail a bit and groaned a low, grumbly sound of enjoyment.  
  
The god snorted, glancing down at the wolf. He’d yet to actually acknowledge Grimmjow, but, “Yeah yeah, I know he’s here. Ya did good.” Then he pulled his hand from the wolf’s fur, motioning outward almost like he’d thrown something, and the big animal stood in a rush, taking off in the direction he’d sent it. It shot across the clearing and disappeared into the underbrush almost quicker than Grimmjow could watch.  
  
When the human looked back to the god, he found those strange gold eyes on him again. There was a flash of something wild, something fierce and untamable. Anger was easy to see in the set of the god’s features and the sharp fire in his eyes.  
  
“I sent him ta find your friends, human.” He growled with venom in his voice. “Try to bring others to me without my want again and it will be your last action among the livin’. You’re playin’ with a god, don’t forget it.”  
  
Grimmjow’s confusion was obvious. “What? What are you trying to say? That I was leading-“ Blue eyes widened a bit, as in that moment he seemed to realize what the god thought was happening and what would make the creature think that. “I was being followed?”  
  
The god tilted his head a fraction, the anger slowly dissipating to be replaced by a slight, thoughtful frown. After a moment, he decided the human spoke truthfully. “You weren’t leading them ta me.”  
  
Grimmjow shook his head, “No, of course not.”   
  
The creature grunted a short sound and relieved the human of his intense stare. With easy, unhurried strides, he made his way to the edge of the small pond, then crossed into the warm water until he’d waded out far enough that he stood in water that lapped gently at his hips.  
  
“You sent the wolf to kill them?” Grimmjow asked, edging a few steps closer to the spring.  
  
The god didn’t look up. When he answered, his words were untroubled, “Only two of ‘em.”  
  
Grimmjow frowned, “Out of how many?” Part of him wanted to rage about the entitlement such easy taking of lives suggested. Yet another part realized he was speaking to a being even above humans. Still another side of him was beginning to see that the god only did to them what they would do to him, or to his animals and his forest.  
  
“Three. The one will be allowed to return. I wish your kind to know of me again and know to fear me.”  
  
“That might be unwise…” Grimmjow cautioned, knowing well the way his kind thought. Humans didn’t like to be reminded of their faults and frailties. They railed against it at every turn. But when he received a sharp look of warning from the creature standing out in the water, he decided he would do well in remembering that he too was human. Instead of attempting to tell a god of the dangers in angering mere mortals, he asked, “What if they’re armed?”  
  
Shiro narrowed his gaze at the human, before returning to his study of the water around him, “What if they are?” He asked, clearly unworried by the prospect.  
  
“I have a hard time believing you care so little for that wolf’s life.”  
  
At that, the god lilted a laugh that floated through the trees around them, “He’s more than ya think he is.” He said simply, trailing light, playful fingertips deftly across the surface of the water as he wandered deeper. The very tips of the longest strands of his hair splayed across the calm surface behind him.  
  
If Grimmjow had intended to say more, it was forgotten when the god suddenly stumbled, a sharp breath coming from him. In the next moment, as Grimmjow was trying to figure out what had happened, the creature’s head snapped up, odd eyes panning around the forest that met at the bank opposite from Grimmjow, as if he was calculating and thinking. Then he was wading through the water with haste, making for the shore his attention had been drawn to.  
  
There was a hurriedness to his actions, an almost frantic quality that Grimmjow had never seen in their few interactions. When he made it onto dry land, there was an odd limp in his steps. The man’s first thought was of the wolf they’d been talking about and when pale feet hit dry earth at a sprinter’s pace, Grimmjow found himself rounding the bank to follow.  
  
The god was impossibly swift, beyond that of any person Grimmjow had ever known. His hurried, light steps were not something easily followed. He twisted through the forest, over fallen branches, around the trunks of trees. The only thing that kept Grimmjow from loosing him was that they hadn’t far to go.  
  
In a matter of moments, the god slid to a stop, dirt skidding up around him. As Grimmjow caught up, he turned to the human with an upraised, outstretched hand, “Stop-!” He commanded, his odd voice ringing through the trees.  
  
Grimmjow did just that, freezing up and nearly falling in his haste to listen to the snarl of such a powerful creature.   
  
Past the god, standing nearly an equal distance from the pale creature as Grimmjow did, stood the wolf. A strained, pained whine crawled from the animal’s throat, but it wasn’t those that had followed the man that had gotten to the animal. Like many wild animals, it had chosen a familiar and oft tread upon track that had been long since warn into the forest floor; a game trail.   
  
Its big head was lowered, ears flattened back and tail tucked between its back legs. One foreleg was lifted very slightly, so that no weight settled upon it. Dark, rich blood stained the wolf’s fur, dripping around the unforgiving jaws of a steel trap. The heavy chain meant to anchor the trapped animal in place had been bent and pulled free from the force of the wolf’s run. The metal teeth of the trap itself were not so easily broken, however, and the sharp bite had flayed skin. The white of bone peeked through grey-tan, blood-matted fur.  
  
The wolf let out another low complaint, obviously pained, and tried to hobble a step forward, toward the god that had paused between it and Grimmjow. The man shifted, as if to draw near, his only thought to help the poor thing, but he yet again earned the sharp spike of golden eyes.  
  
“Don’t move,” The god hissed, menace and power in his voice.  
  
Grimmjow froze again, easing his raised foot backward. Casting his gaze downward, he searched, just barely finding the glint of metal tangled in the grasses and weeds. Blue eyes widened as he took a quick, desperate look around. It was impossible to tell how many other similar traps had been set in the area.  
  
Then the pale creature was moving, and his attention snapped back to the bare nymph, “What are you-“ He started to question, only to be interrupted by a strained but vicious snarl from the wolf. He met the animal’s eyes, intelligence and knowing in the swirling brown color, then looked back to the god and realized that he neither hesitated, nor searched where to step first. In fact, those golden eyes were closed entirely. He listened.  
  
With confident, gentle steps, Shirosaki crossed the span of forest floor between himself and his beloved friend. He dropped to his knees in the dirt before the animal, eyes snapping open as his hands traced the cruel metal clamped tight around the wolf’s leg. He trembled with rage, teeth bared, but his fingers were as caring as they ever were when set upon something living and immersed in his forest.  
  
“I can help you dislodge it,” Grimmjow tried again, making as if to very carefully step over the jaws set before him. He saw the way the god curled his lip as he once more ignored the instructions that had been given to him. “That’s a trap meant for something bigger than a wolf, bear probably, it’s going to be more than one man can pry loose…”  
  
The nymph snorted a dry sound, his pale fingers curling around the jagged, metal teeth near the wolf’s trapped leg, “I am more than a man.” As he began to pull, metal groaned in protest. His motions were so careful, so precise, as he worked to free his companion. His strength never faltered, his hands never hesitated, even as dark blood from his shredded fingers oozed along the metal, slicking his grip and tracking down his fingers to drip down his wrists. It pattered on the leaf littered forest floor in shimmering droplets, reflecting light as would an oil spill.  
  
The human frowned as he watched. The god’s expression never changed, like he hardly realized metal bit into his flesh and flayed his skin. But within a few short moments, the wolf was able to pull free it’s leg. It hobbled back a few steps, limping and refusing to put weight on its injured paw.  
  
The steel trap snapped shut with a sharp ring of metal as the nymph dropped it. It thumped harmlessly to the ground, the pale creature already turning from it and to his animal companion. He sat crosslegged on the ground, ignoring the warmth of the blood soaking his fingers, and held out a hand.  
  
The wolf eased down before the god, lifting its paw into the creature’s hand and resting its chin across Shiro’s bent knee. A small smile twitched onto pale lips as Shiro very carefully closed his hand around the jagged tear in the wolf’s flesh. A mere touch was all it took, a soothing of powerful fingers, the flow of energy from one creature to another.  
  
Muscle knit over exposed bone. Healthy, living flesh sealed shut around it.  
  
Grimmjow watched the wolf’s tail waggle in a few, subtle motions. It’s pained whine fell away and its ears slowly raised again. Soon enough, mere minutes at most, the wolf was on its feet, no sign of its previous injury save for the drying blood crusting its fur. Its brown eyes met golden, before the animal seemed to come to a conclusion.   
  
It left the god’s side and picked its way carefully further down the game trail. It hopped over the trap nestled before Grimmjow, and since it had no words, it used its large size and weight and physically pushed the human back a few steps. Grimmjow thought to resist at first, unsure as to what was going on, but a flash of fangs moved him along.  
  
He looked back to the god, confused, and found that the pale creature stood once more, facing him and with closed eyes. “Do not move.” The creature intoned, head tilting slightly. The look on his features was of mild concentration, but no strain showed. The subtle motion of his bloodied fingers was surprisingly graceful, like the wind guided his movements.  
  
In time with his commands, trees bent around them. Vines snaked through the branches, across trunks, and through the grasses. Blue eyes wide, Grimmjow started to, yet again, step toward the god, this time in awe. He’d known, when first encountering the creature, that he was powerful, but the display was impressive as ever. To control nature, something mankind had only accomplished in laughably small feats compared to the nymph, was a powerful gift indeed.   
  
At his side, the wolf sat and Grimmjow hissed a breath as the beast’s weight settled on his foot, keeping him from moving. The wolf glanced up at him, as if the sound attracted its attention, but it looked rather smug.  
  
Grimmjow frowned down at it, but when those intelligent brown eyes coasted back toward the wolf’s master, the human’s attention went back to the god as well.  
  
The protest of metal and the snap of chains sounded along the trail as vines found and twisted around the few remaining traps. The one settled barely a step away jerked as living plant intertwined through its chain. It was as if months, years even, were happening in the span of minutes. The unnatural metal was overtaken by green life. Moss grew across its surface, dulled its edges. Rust hindered its joins and springs. Pins snapped with age, crumbling to the ground to be swallowed by rich, living soil.  
  
Shiro had no control over the foreign metal, but he could make life claim it, the way it claimed the bones of the dead. Within minutes, a touch was all it took to collapse what was left.  
  
The god strode across the trail, passing Grimmjow. The wolf turned to follow and the human ultimately fell in line behind the two. They left the evidence of the hunter’s crimes to litter the area, a harmless blemish upon the forest floor.  
  
Following the two strange creatures, Grimmjow dragged his attention from the bare god’s form and let his gaze linger on the smooth bark of a tree the nymph brushed on his way by, as if speaking with it through the touch of his hands. A smear of reddish, shimmering blood was left behind. The human frowned, wondering about it.  
  
He wasn’t given the chance to wonder long, or seek answers. When he rounded a large tree as he followed the two, the god and his wolf were gone, vanished into the forest with no trail, path or even footprint to show which way they had gone.  
  
Grimmjow sighed, having already experienced this little trick. If the god didn’t want to be found, no amount of searching would reveal his whereabouts. Turning from the path he’d been taking, the man began tracking his way back home, leaving the creature in peace. On his way through, he found what was left of the two people the god had decided were to become his lesson. The wolf had not been kind, yet not a single bullet had been fired from the guns they’d carried. A god’s justice was a harsh thing indeed.  
  
It would be several days before Grimmjow visited the god again, but not for lack of trying. The day after the event, when he’d stepped into the forest, he’d known he’d not find his way. Something about the way the trees and foliage seemed to move, yet remain still before him as he navigated told him he would not find the small spring this day. After returning home, he decided it’d be best to give it a few days before another try; let the hype of the two brutal deaths at the jaws of a massive wolf die down some, and let the god settle as well.  
  
When next he tried again, it was startlingly easy to find the creature and his favored sanctuary. It was a cloudy evening, and rain looked imminent, yet there the god sat, naked and unworried, lounging on a makeshift swing of branches and vines twisted and shaped to his will. He rocked idly and without effort, the plants taking his weight doing the work for him. His eyes were closed and his body was relaxed, as if he rested, but the subtle smirk on his features promised that he knew very well who looked upon him.  
  
“You shouldn’t have killed them.” He was unsurprised to receive no response, “Scare them away, maybe, but not kill them. The villagers aren’t happy. You can’t tell them not to feed themselves, not to eat and live.”  
  
The god didn’t look up, still relaxed against one supporting side of his makeshift swing. He snorted a skeptical sound, “All animals must eat, even me. I know this, mortal. I don’t wish them ta go hungry, I wish them ta pay respect ta my forest and the animals I protect. I wish them ta be kind ta them. It used ta be, long ago now, I suppose, that the natives of this land prayed ta me. They asked my permission and they thanked me when it was granted. They prayed for the animals they killed, and payed their respects to my dead as they would have their own. Humans have fallen far over the years.”  
  
At that, Grimmjow frowned a bit, still only just learning who he truly spoke with; a god everyone had thought was myth turned rumor. That rumor was quickly beginning to be taken for truth, though, as the creature left his mark. “…you never told me who you were.”  
  
A bit of a smirk tugged at one corner of pale lips, “I’mma god, a deity, an almighty being, a nymph, the protector of this forest; I have many titles.”  
  
“I already knew what. I said who.”   
  
That little smirk widened, and finally the creature opened golden eyes, allowing them to settle calmly upon the human in his presence, “You ask my name.”  
  
Grimmjow nodded, getting a very strong feeling that the creature was toying with him, but to what end, he could not begin guessing. Not far off, the large wolf lifted its head, looking at him with a steely gaze. “I know you don’t dislike me,” He ventured, blue eyes narrowing slightly, “not like you do others, or you would have been done with me long ago. But you’re not, you lead me here over and over, even though you have the power to keep me away.”  
  
“You know, human,” The pale nymph mused, finally shifting. He slipped from his perch and wandered toward the pool he seemed to like so much, motions easy and unhurried, but lively and graceful. Almost immediately, the branches and vines began to return to their natural places. The god continued, “there are only two reasons ta ask a god for its name; for worship or for murder. Which is it?”  
  
“Neither.” The man said, no hesitation to his gravely voice. He watched as bare feet entered the shallows. The god didn’t pause there. The calm water seemed to welcome him. “If you seek worshippers, you’re looking in the wrong place. I want nothing from you, so I plan neither.” Then an idea struck him and he looked the pale creature over, something of a curious frown tugging at his brow. “When first we met, you said everyone wanted something, even you. What is it, then? What do you want with me?”  
  
The god hummed an amused, pleased sound. His grin was obvious, despite that he seemed to pay almost no attention to the man, his focus seemingly upon the water around him. “Clever,” He praised, “My name is Shirosaki.” As he said it, his fingers dipped into the water and all around him, submerged plants began growing, reaching for the surface where they flourished bright and healthy. Flowers budded, colorful petals spread wide. “Join me, human.” He bid as he looked up and over at Grimmjow where the man stood near the shore, with a playful, mischievous little smirk on his pale lips. There was both the cunning look of a predator and the hooded expression of a temptress in golden eyes.  
  
Grimmjow, momentarily enraptured by that odd gaze, took a delayed moment to respond. “Shirosaki…” He said, testing the name and finally dragging his attention elsewhere, out at the cool, clean water around the nymph, “These waters aren’t safe…” He informed, as if he thought perhaps no one had told the god who stood in the shallows and had done so many times before. “There’s flesh eating fish and worms that hide in the sands.”  
  
The god laughed the silvery sound of a flute. “While in my company, the fish are no more likely to attack you than my vicious companion is.” He countered. He didn’t gesture, but his attention flickered off to one side.  
  
Grimmjow followed his gaze, finding the massive wolf staring back at him mildly, almost as if bored. The big animal sighed and lowered its head back to its crossed paws, and Grimmjow once more returned his attention to the god he spoke with.  
  
He found the god striding towards him, a mere pace away in water that reached just over his ankles. He made no effort to cover himself, showed no hint of discomfort or shame over his lack of clothing. Clear, clean water dripped in shimmering rivulets down his nude body. Muscle glided smoothly, almost sensually below pale skin, highlighted by the way the sun filtered through the canopy and caught the glisten of moisture. As if he knew the spell that his form could hold over a mere mortal, he smirked that mischievous little expression again, and paused just inside arms reach of the human in his company.  
  
When the nymph held out one hand, wordlessly bidding the human to take it, Grimmjow did, his fingers running over the half healed slices along pale fingers. And when the nymph took a backward step to return to deeper water, Grimmjow followed, still fully clothed and without question.  
  
The pale creature led them out to where the shallows began to drop off, where the small, natural lake dropped off into deeper water. Standing on the submerged slope, the god began to kneel and again, Grimmjow followed. When seated, the water was a cool, almost welcome pressure around his ribcage.  
  
Grimmjow eyed the creature as he drew even nearer, creating not a ripple in the water. It was as if his passage was nonexistent, yet there he was, low in the water, right before the man’s very eyes.  
  
“Given the chance, mortal, would you court with a god?” When he spoke, Shiro’s voice was the distortion of wind through the leaves at the very top of the trees; calm and confident and laced with hidden power.  
  
There was nothing subtle about the creature, Grimmjow decided, nothing humble. He had the confidence of the oldest, most hardy tree, the cunning of the most experienced fox, and when he bared his fangs, the viciousness of a scarred up she-wolf.  
  
This was not a creature to trifle with.  
  
Yet Grimmjow pushed a grin to match the god’s across his handsome features and said, “Better that than to court death.”  
  
Shiro laughed, “Wise as well as handsome.” he mused. There was a sly quality to his amusement, though, “Unfortunately for you, I am both life and death.”  
  
The man’s confident grin slipped as the implications of the god’s words settled in. But the creature was already close enough to touch, close enough that he could smell his rich, earthy scent; like the sweet smelling flowers that grew from a rotting corpse. And Grimmjow began to wonder; could the nymph manipulate the intruders of his forest as well as he did its inhabitants?  
  
When creeping fingers danced across the tops of his thighs below the surface, Grimmjow stiffened, watching the creature knelt in the water before him. Long, colorless hair fanned out across the surface of the water, drifting between the leaves and petals of bright flowers. Around them, there was a sea of lively color, and the god was an imposing anomaly, bright and lively in his own ways, yet dark and ghostly too. Rich earth flowed in his veins, the forest lived in his heart. How did one go about telling a god, with the power to destroy with naught but a touch, no?   
  
One didn’t.  
  
The human ended up with a god in his lap, pale legs wrapped around his waist, slim fingers in his hair and hot breaths against his ear, and his pants around his knees. The skin below Grimmjow’s hands was warm, smooth and slick, like satin, like he could tear through it, but the muscle below was solid like rock, like deep roots. The water they sat in seemed to heat up, growing warmer with each raising of the god’s distorted voice.  
  
When they were done, he was unable to claim he hadn’t enjoyed it, and decided he didn’t regret not denying the god his pleasure.  
  
“That’s it?” He asked in the aftermath of their deeds, still seated in the water with a god wrapped around him. He felt the lips pressed against his neck spread into a smirk as Shirosaki settled his head upon his shoulder and twined long fingers through his hair. “This is what you wanted from me?”  
  
Shiro shrugged, idly trailing his fingers down the back of the man’s neck, “For now. You’ll have a more important role ta play later, I think.”  
  
“What’s that mean?”  
  
The god answered him with a grin, but something in his features looked less than amused, “Perhaps nothin’.” He said, finally pushing from the man’s lap. He didn’t go far, only backing away a few steps until he stood in water that nearly reached his hips. He tipped his head a bit, eyes drifting away from the man.  
  
Grimmjow glanced over his shoulder in time to see the massive wolf that had laid passively through the entire thing climb to its feet in a rush of almost excited motion. It raced around the side of the spring, until it was at the spot where the bank was nearest to where the god stood, and promptly launched itself into the deeper water, tongue lolling from a happy, canine smile.   
  
“That doesn’t answer my question.” The man said, climbing to his feet and tugging his pants up as he did.  
  
“I have no answers, Grimmjow, d’ya think I can see the future?” Shirosaki asked, his attention seemingly on his canine companion. The wolf half swam, half bound up to him. It glanced over at Grimmjow for a moment, before ignoring him again in favor of its master. Water soaked its light coat, making the coppery color look almost like a dark, mottled red and orange.  
  
Grimmjow gave the god a look, brows furrowed, “Then why did you speak like you can?”  
  
But as he’d been told, the god had no answers. He watched the two play for a while, as the wolf leapt from the water and at the god almost as if to attack, and Shiro either dodged or caught the animal. He was ages old, but it certainly didn’t show, not in his mannerisms or his body, not even in the way he spoke. Perhaps he really couldn’t look into the future, merely make an educated guess. A creature as old surely had the experience to do so.  
  
Just as Grimmjow was turning to drag himself from the water, the god’s voice froze him mid step.  
  
“History repeats, Grimmjow, especially with humans. This will not be the first time.” Gold eyes cornered to catch blue. That ever present smirk sat on pale lips, but the look in the creature’s eyes was not amusement. It was grave, dark and knowing. “Perhaps the last, though.” Only when he turned back to his wolf companion, dragging his piercing gaze away from the man, did he continue with a quiet, “I hope not.”  
  
Grimmjow wasn’t wholly sure what to make of the bit of insight, or the small confession that followed. It served to remind him that he knew nothing of the creature that stood before him. Finally turning to take his leave, he missed the large, intelligent brown eyes that followed his departure as the wolf took his measure. Like its master, the animal was more than it seemed.  
  
That night, after Grimmjow had turned in, giving the god his space and his isolation, he dreamed. The images were given to him from another; things he knew nothing about and couldn’t have conceived on his own. He dreamed of long ago times, when the forest was younger and so was its protector. He dreamed of hope, of joy, of pleasure. He dreamed of darkness and absence and loss.  
  
The bed dipped at his side and a warm, heavy body laid next to him, pressed close and secure. A weight settled across his chest, solid but not stifling. He dropped his hand over it as he flinched, still in the clutch of the dreams being fed to him.  
  
In his dream, the god sat beside him upon the bed, half clothed with feathers and the hide of something long since extinct. Paint decorated his features; down the bridge of his nose, marking his high cheekbones, a line down the middle of his lips and chin. The colors were sharp in contrast to his pale skin. His long, wild hair was tied back, braided into thick, ceremonial strands. The feathers of brightly colored, beautiful birds had been weaved through it. He truly looked every bit the god he was. He looked feral. He looked worshipped, revered, feared and respected, the way he should have, but didn’t in the age Grimmjow had met him.  
  
He watched pale lips move. That strange, lilting voice whispered in his ear. But he didn’t hear the words, instead he saw them. Images of a long gone people, praying and asking of their god. He watched Shirosaki wade from the edge of a thick, ancient forest, like a specter as if from no where. The people around him didn’t fear him, didn’t shy away or look shocked. They looked pleased, overjoyed, blessed, that their god had come to their calls.  
  
The god walked among them as they sat around a hearth under the open sky, the purples and oranges of late evening bleeding into the sky. They didn’t stand as he approached, and he didn’t seem to mind. In motions that were startlingly familiar to Grimmjow, the god trailed almost delicate fingers over the bowed heads of his people. As he passed, they raised their gazes to watch him, but his attention and presence wasn’t for them. He continued through the gathering, until he stopped before a single woman. Her belly was swollen and rounded and her features looked tired and sunken, her body was thin. But the look in her eyes was pleasant and hopeful as she looked up at him. When the god knelt, everything was silent, and he sat there before her for a long moment, before he oh so carefully reached out and settled a hand on the curve of her belly. Then he stood and was gone and Grimmjow knew, without sound in his dream, he knew the god had done as she’d asked him to; allowed her to trade places with her dying, unborn child.  
  
The child was later given a name to honor the choosing of a god. His mother was left to the forest, to the god that oversaw the life, death, and rebirth of all.  
  
Grimmjow watched the child grow, watched him turn into a powerful chieftain. Watched him pray to his god and watched that god gift his people with successful hunts and safety and good fortune.  
  
But the longer his dreams went on, the darker the images began to get. After the chief died of old age, the next was not so diligent. Shirosaki was pushed back at arms length from the people of his forest, until they began turning outward for their success and their prosperity. They cut down sections of his forest for more permanent housing, for fields and for reasons not so noble. They trapped animals they had no need for. Through the ages, they changed, moved on from their beliefs, poisoned streams and ruined land the god had protected.   
  
And Shiro was left to watch, left to grow to loath the people he had protected and welcomed into his forest and care. He took to protecting the animals and the plants, and he left the mortals alone.  
  
Until the god’s patience finally ran out.  
  
When he’d finally been pushed to his limit of tolerance, when all that he’d once done for the people taking refuge in his forest was forgotten, he snapped. He destroyed his own people. Decimated their numbers. He swept among them and cast off the things their ancestors had gifted to him, and he slaughtered those that feared him, those that had lost their way. Then, angered and pained at what he’d done, at what he’d been driven to, he left.   
  
The land was left godless for a long time, left to grow and die and struggle through it. Humans came back, survived like they always did. They forgot about their absent god.  
  
The last image Grimmjow dreamed was of the god awakening, generations later, to a harsh world that had grown callous and unkind to his beloved forest. He awakened to the ancestors of his people that didn’t know his name.  
  
Grimmjow woke up early that morning, the sun still just coloring the horizon, and opened his eyes to frown up at the ceiling of his cabin. As the last dregs of his dreams vanished, the weight at his side didn’t dissipate. The warmth across his chest was still there, and he curled his fingers against it, until it registered as thick, silken fur.  
  
At his side, long, pointed ears perked up. The wolf. From the corner of widening eyes, as he shifted with obvious intent to scramble upright, he caught a few waggles of the animal’s tail. Blue eyes searched the shadow darkened room, seeking out the massive beast’s master, but there was a startling absence of paleness in the predawn darkness. The god was absent. The wolf was alone.  
  
It sat up, towering over where Grimmjow sat on his bed, and looked down at him with a gaze that was not as base and animal as it should have been. There was knowing there, understanding.  
  
“He sent you, didn’t he?” The big man dared ask, like he thought the animal would understand.  
  
The wolf tilted its head, ears cocked as if listening. Then, with startling abruptness, those ears flattened back and the creature bared massive, gleaming fangs. Its jaws snapped with aggression and anger and threat, but it didn’t attack. It turned tail and, in a single leap, left the bed and crossed the space of the room. It was out the door before Grimmjow even pulled himself to his feet. He listened to the sound of its claws scrabbling and digging against the wood of his flooring.  
  
With a frown on his handsome features, he climbed from the bed and headed for the door, intending to follow after the wolf, find the god, and figure out what that had all been about. He barely made it to the doorframe when the loud crack of gunfire shattered the predawn air.  
  
Blue eyes widening, the man jolted to a surprised stop, then shot forward and all but sprinted from his home. As he burst out into the open air of the village, he searched the street for signs of the wolf. Another loud gunshot echoed from the buildings, through the trees, and he followed its source just in time to see the wolf lunge through the tree line, unharmed.  
  
He followed after the animal, knowing it was headed for its master and knowing from the haste in the wolf’s pace and the frantic way it weaved between trees that something wasn’t right. Like before, though, when the wolf didn’t want to be followed, it wouldn’t be.  
  
Grimmjow lost sight of the animal within minutes, but he kept pushing forward, deeper into the forest. The sun was still working its way higher into the sky, over the horizon, and deep shadows clung like clawing, crooked fingers around the base of trees and dips in the forest floor. He passed a body as he ran. It laid in a pool of blood, throat torn out by vicious teeth. A gun lay nearby.  
  
Around him, as he ran deeper into the forest and closer to where he knew he’d find the god and his wolf, the trees began yellowing. The fresh, crisp light of day revealed weak, struggling plants. Leaves fell like an autumn shed as he pushed aside low hanging branches. Brittle wood snapped off with sharp, hollow sounds.  
  
Confusion swept through the man, confusion and a horrible sense of dread understanding. It wasn’t the wolf they’d been hunting that morning. It wasn’t the wolf. It wasn’t deer, or rabbit. It was the thing that guarded the forest. They’d set out to kill a god that morning and now, all around him, the forest seemed to unravel.  
  
Grimmjow thought back to his dreams as he scrambled through the shadows, darting around trees and through underbrush. He thought back to the creature’s words the day before, his demeanor. He’d known.  
  
Finally, the man made it to his destination. It felt like the run had taken far longer than normal. Maybe it had, maybe the god had been trying to keep him away. He only slowed when he broke through the last line of trees and his bare feet settled upon cool, damp dirt.  
  
“Human.” The creature rasped. Seated in the shallows of his favorite spring, his back faced the man, raising and falling with his strained breaths.  
  
Grimmjow frowned at the tone, his eyes panning over the god, over the wolf that stood in water nearly up to its chest, than back again. The scene was odd and only further proved that something had indeed happened. Around him, normally vivid, lively plants were yellowed and wilting except for one area right near the edge of the pool.  
  
“I cannot tell right now. Have ya lead them to me?”  
  
Grimmjow’s frown deepened, “No, of course not.”  
  
The nymph nodded, “I believe ya.”  
  
“The forest…” He half whispered, knowing the creature before him cared deeply for his domain, “It’s dying…”  
  
“It is.”  
  
Stepping through the underbrush, the human dared come nearer and only then did he see the dark, murky stain that slowly spread out upon the surface of the pool, radiating from the god himself. It shone like an oil spill in the filtered sunlight, but it was far too red. A large, serrated fin poked out in deeper water, closer to where the wolf stood as if on guard. The animal bared its teeth and snapped its jaws at the large fish, not allowing it to draw any nearer its master.  
  
“You’re dying…”  
  
“I am.” Yellow eyes flickered toward it, than at the human as Grimmjow rounded the edge of the pool and came yet closer. An open, raw hole had been torn through the god’s chest and Grimmjow recognized it as the work of his kind at impossibly close range. The wound bled sluggishly, dripping thick, red blood down the creature’s abdomen to be mixed with the water of the spring.  
  
Shirosaki took note of where his attention had fallen. A rye smile tugged at his pale lips. “They thought to be rid of the forest’s guardian,” He explained, taking his time and finding his breath before continuing, “They thought -if they were to kill me off- the animals I protect would be easier to hunt, making their food more plentiful.” A dry chuckle left the god’s throat. He shrugged a bit and the motion pulled at the gaping wound in his chest. A few feet away, the wolf whined, then lunged for the thing slithering through water. Its jaws came away empty, dripping red tinted water. “They’re right. For a while, at least, game will be plentiful and easy. With my death, the forest will die too and there will be no place for the animals to hide. When they’ve killed off all the animals…” He paused again, shrugged again. “There will be no more.”  
  
Grimmjow looked upon the dying god and he found not a trace of fear in the creature. There was no regret, no sorrow. It was as if he’d expected it all along, from the very start. Perhaps he had. He’d said he couldn’t see the future and had no answers, but he was old, like all gods were. And age brought wisdom, knowing. Even if he hadn’t know for sure, he’d been able to guess.  
  
Dipping one hand into the muddied water, Shiro pushed it along the surface, sending a small current of the water around him that held fresher, thicker blood, outward, toward deeper water. The monstrous fish the wolf had been keeping at bay shot for it, surfacing long enough as it tried to swallow down more of the god’s blood, to flash long, sharp teeth.  
  
Shirosaki laughed, “Like that, do ya?” He cupped his hands below the surface and raised them, holding them out as if in offering to the mortal that still stood at the very edge of the water. “Here. Drink.” He bid the man, a dry mocking in his tone. There was a minute tremble to his outstretched hands, like it was beginning to take too much energy to hold them aloft. “Don’t you want power too? Don’t all humans want power?”  
  
Brow furrowing, Grimmjow looked back to deeper water, where the creature that had once been a simple fish still tried to get past the wolf, greedy for more of the god’s blood, fresh from the source and unwatered. Behind it, another serrated fin slunk from the depths of the pool and began slithering towards shallower water. He let his gaze travel yet further, to the other side of the pond, where the trees were withering and grasses were dying.  
  
“Would it be enough to save the forest?” He finally asked, looking back to the creature that sat so unnaturally still in the water.   
  
“No.” Shirosaki answered, his inverted eyes falling to his outstretched, trembling hands. “The power would be…” He parted his fingers just enough to let the bloodied water trickle from his cupped hands. It dripped red, watery trails down his pale wrists. When they were empty, he dropped them back into his lap like he couldn’t hold them up any longer, “watered down. Only I have that power.” He paused and that rye smirk found its way back to his features, “Had.” He corrected.  
  
“What would it do to me?” Was Grimmjow’s next question. He’d dealt with the god enough to know that while manipulative when he wished, Shirosaki was an honest creature.  
  
The dying god shrugged, glancing yet again toward the monsters his blood had created. Still his wolf held it at bay. “That depends on you.” He told the human, “It could turn you to a monster, like it has the flesh eating fish. Or-” his attention turned the other way and he looked out at the trees still clinging to life around the closer edge of the pool, “Or it could give you the gift of life renewed, like it has with the plants who’s roots feed from this water.” An almost wistful expression crossed his pale features and he mused aloud, “Perhaps my blood will be enough to keep this patch of forest alive. Maybe,” His eyes fell on his canine companion, “I could force it down his throat, and he would be enough. Maybe he could take my place as guardian of this little forest.”  
  
The human took a single, small step forward and the quiet splash of his feet entering the edge of the water was enough to draw the god’s attention. His next question, however, took the creature off guard, “Would it be enough to save you?”  
  
Inverted, gold on black eyes widened slightly, meeting determined, bright blue. Then the creature’s gaze narrowed, searching. After a moment, after a few, short breaths, he shrugged one shoulder and confessed, “Perhaps.” but it was clear he didn’t expect the human to do such a thing.  
  
He’d manipulated the man, led him on, used him. A god with a mortal play thing, and he hadn’t hid that from Grimmjow. He hadn’t said as much, perhaps, but he had never lied either. Grimmjow was a human, and the man knew just how the god saw humans.  
  
But Grimmjow had already made his decision. He splashed the few paces through the shallow edge of the pond and dropped to his knees in the cool water. Red water stained his clothing, lapping against the god’s torso from his movements. Shirosaki merely watched him, chest rising and falling with strained breaths. The wound in his chest glistened wetly with each one.  
  
Reaching below the water, Grimmjow took the god’s hands in his own. His thumbs soothed over the rough, half healed scars of metal jaws where they marked the god’s fingers. Below the surface, he cupped the creature’s hands so that as he raised them, they held within them thick, red-tainted water, and never broke eye contact with the god, unblinking, as he leaned forward and brought Shirosaki’s hands to his lips.  
  
Shiro said nothing. He didn’t try to stop what was happening, he didn’t protest or hesitate. He simply watched as the human drank of his lifeblood.  
  
When he’d finished the last swallow held in pale, strengthless hands, Grimmjow let go and wasn’t surprised with the creature’s hands fell back to his lap. He stood, water and blood both dripping from his lower half and from his chin. It made him look more feral than the god could remember ever seeing him. He straightened over the god, looked down upon him and watched as Shirosaki tipped back his head and raised his gaze to again find brilliant blue. Then he stooped, and pulled the dying god from the water.  
  
Shiro was too worn and weak with blood loss to stand on his own, to assist the man in taking his weight. His long, bare legs dangled limply over one strong arm. The other arm supported his shoulders as he was lifted, and the creature winced as he was shifted, the first hint of real pain reaching his features as he breathed through it.   
  
Grimmjow turned from the pool, sloshing through the shallows and onto dry land again, where he paused. Looking over his shoulder, he watched as the big wolf’s head lifted and swiveled to pin him with intense, intelligent brown eyes. “Ichigo…” Grimmjow bid, his voice a bit tentative. The wolf’s ears perked and the man smiled, “Come.”  
  
In his arms, the god grunted a dry laugh, “You can hear his name.”  
  
The man looked down at pale features and nodded, a grin stretching at his lips. Never before had he heard the name. Never had Shiro spoken it aloud. Yet this time when he’d looked upon the wolf, he’d known. “It’s a good name. When you grew weak, he became your protector.”  
  
“So he did.” The god breathed, falling still. Blood dripped down the curve of his ribcage to stain Grimmjow’s front. Where it pattered upon the forest floor as the man walked, white, healthy flowers bloomed in the rich soil, leaving a trail behind them.  
  
The wolf followed as the human carried his master from the spring. With its leaving, the fish surged from deeper water, seeking out more of the god’s power-giving blood.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts!


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